Lisa glanced up from her computer. Her study no longer smelt of paint. With its dark-green walls lined with books and Polynesian masks, it felt like home. The photo of Alexander with his Castlemaine wife and baby gazed down on her. Since she’d had the image enlarged and repaired, the affection between the couple beamed across the decades. Aunty May was thrilled with the copies Lisa had given her.
Writing Three Sisters: Anne had been a breeze, but the last chapter was proving problematic. Anne was in love with Harold, the good-hearted farmer whose son was confined to a wheelchair. Harold had even mentioned the ‘m’ word. But after all she’d been through, Anne couldn’t face the thought of getting married. Or even, as Harold put it, ‘shacking up for a bit’. Anne suggested it might be more romantic if they maintained the status quo, living separately and staying over at each other’s houses now and then. Harold was about to agree when Lisa heard a voice calling from down in the garden.
Mojo grumbled and rolled off her lap. Lisa stood and opened the window. Across the valley, the sun was sinking into the hills. Clouds were blushing red. The angular silhouette of the pergola rose against the sky. Its rust-coloured frame was taller, more modern than it had appeared on the plans. The sight of Scott’s panther-like body still made her breath catch at the back of her throat. Holding a hose in one hand, he waved up at her. ‘Come on down! It’s nearly full.’
It had been his idea to divide the pool in two sections. When hot wind ripped in from the desert, the cool deep plunge pool would be a godsend. On chilly nights, when the sky became a jewel box of stars, the smaller, heated spa would be irresistible.
Lisa watched Scott toss the hose aside and tear off his shirt. He launched into the plunge pool, creating a fountain of diamonds.
Mojo galloped ahead as she hurried to her room then eyed her curiously as she pulled on her swimming costume and draped a self-conscious towel over her thighs.
As she made her way downstairs the cat charged outside and galloped along the paths. He skidded to a halt when he reached the edge of the pool. Sitting on his haunches, he dipped a tentative paw in the water and shuddered.
She dropped her towel on the tiles and lowered herself into the cool water. It was deeper than it looked. Scott dived under and tugged her leg. She squealed and kicked him off.
‘It’ll take a couple of hours for the spa to heat up,’ he said, shaking droplets off his hair. ‘We could try it later on, when it’s dark . . .’ In a couple of over-arm strokes he was at her side. His shoulder muscles glistened. ‘Two weeks,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘That’s what I gave you when you moved here.’
She drew a breath and sank through the silky depths till her toes touched the concrete floor. She filled her mouth with water, pushed herself to the surface and squirted his face.
‘Honestly!’ he laughed. ‘How was a stuck-up New York writer lady going to survive out here?’
‘Stuck up?!’
‘C’mon. You were poncy as hell . . . pergola, pergola.’
‘Thanks a lot.’
She heaved herself up onto the edge of the pool and reached for her towel. Droplets sparkled on her arms. Across the valley, trees glowed gold with autumn. Scott rose effortlessly out of the water, pulled her to her feet and wrapped her in his arms.
The night after the funeral she’d been ready to dump him. She’d been too engrossed in her own agenda to imagine what might be happening at Scott’s place. Around the time Lisa was slipping into her lucky dress, Todd had tried to walk without help and took a nasty tumble. Scott had driven him to Accident and Emergency. He’d tried to call Lisa, but his phone was out of juice.
Any offence she’d taken had evaporated. If Scott was to be part of her life, Todd would be included without question. The young man was a regular visitor to the manor, where he was a huge hit with Mojo and Kiwi. Lisa was fond of him, too. His campaign to walk again was surprising the medical profession. He’d actually managed to take a few steps alone.
Seeing more of Todd involved arranging pick-ups and drop-offs with Beverley. While she and Lisa would never be soulmates, Lisa had learned to respect Beverley’s chutzpah, along with her pink boots and rhinestones.
As Lisa and Scott strolled hand in hand towards the house, a pair of white wings sailed off the upstairs balcony and swished steadily towards them.
‘Incoming!’ Scott warned, releasing her hand and rearranging his towel over his neck. As the bird approached, she extended her grey claws towards Scott’s shoulders. The landing would’ve been perfect if she hadn’t nearly toppled down his back.
‘C’mon you!’ Lisa said, scooping Mojo up to nuzzle his soft face.
The cat squirmed out of her grasp and dropped to the ground. Some things never changed.
Kiwi teetered like a drunk while Scott bent and ran his hand over Mojo’s back. The ginger lion cat arched with pleasure.
With its crisp white shutters and shining windows, Trumperton Manor was hardly recognisable from the first time she’d seen it. Now the stables and servants’ quarters were gone, it was released from its painful history and ready to begin a new phase. A new sign had sprouted from the flowerbed beside the front steps. Carefully carved and painted by Scott, it read ‘Tumbledown Manor’.
Aunt Caroline’s windfall couldn’t have come at a better time. It allowed Lisa to settle her debts as well as finish the renovations and landscaping. True to form, Maxine had spent her share of the inheritance on a beach house at Portsea on the peninsula.
Lisa was in no hurry for Ted to finish drawing up plans for the new stables. He and James visited nearly every weekend, but there was plenty of room for them to stay in the house as it was.
Portia’s counselling sessions were going well. Her weight was improving. The play she’d written with Zack, Care Bear Killer, was in the final stages of rehearsal. Lisa swapped with another volunteer at Juliet’s animal rescue centre so she and Scott could drive into the city for opening night.
The billabong and wetlands were attracting birdlife Aunty May said she hadn’t seen since she was a girl. Lisa loved the way the water surface turned silver at dusk.
Now, as they climbed the steps to the veranda, pink clouds streaked across the sky. The horizon melted to amber. Pulling her towel tighter around her, Lisa made a beeline for the sofa. Scott had done a reasonable job fixing it, but it was still hard on the backside. Once she was settled, Mojo sprang onto her lap. Kiwi took that as a cue to take up her position on the balustrade.
Scott pointed at his toolbox, which he’d left on the sofa beside her. ‘Upgraded my screwdrivers,’ he beamed. ‘Thought you’d like to take a look.’
Really, he could be a dope sometimes. As if she cared about screwdrivers.
‘Go on,’ he nodded. ‘Take a look.’
Preparing to feign enthusiasm, she flicked the lock and opened the lid. Inside were two crystal flutes and a bottle of champagne. ‘French?’ she gasped, lifting the bottle and reading the label.
‘I figured you deserve the real McCoy,’ he said, taking the bottle from her hand and easing the cork with a muted pop.
As he filled her glass, a shaft of sunlight shot the liquid through with gold. She watched the tiny bubbles stream to the surface.
A kangaroo bounded towards purple hills as she savoured the eucalypt-laden air. Trumperton Manor and its land was in her veins. She belonged.
Scott grinned and raised his glass. ‘Here’s to the new Duchess of Trumperton Manor.’ She chuckled and assured him she was no aristocrat.
They clinked glasses then Lisa took a sip. ‘To Tumbledown Manor!’ she said.